


The Final Rite of Passage

by mcj



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcj/pseuds/mcj
Summary: Before International Rescue can open for business, its Founder must finally face the fact that he is just as much in need of saving as those he is building the Organisation for.
Relationships: Jeff Tracy/Lucille Tracy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Final Rite of Passage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boomer cat](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Boomer+cat).



_A young man once told himself to 'never give up at any cost'. That man went on to be the Founder of International Rescue_

**One**

Three weeks after we moved to the island, Kyrano decided to immerse himself in a string of special projects. One of them was a "much-needed botany project"; at least that was how he explained the concept to me.

"I think you will find the results most therapeutic," was the message. "It will be something to help you feel at peace with your new life and one day may even prove to be the catalyst for your final rite of passage."

I had no idea what the man was talking about, so I just nodded and decided to leave him to it. Despite his assumption, I was already perfectly at peace with life away from my homeland, and with plans for International Rescue to commence operations in less than eight months, Brains and I still had work to do. Besides, history had already taught me more than once that if I started asking Kyrano questions, I'd be lying awake half the night pondering on the message behind the answers.

I couldn't afford to be distracted by anything right now.

International Rescue had been my passion, my dream and the goal for the last four years...

...and nothing was going to stop me from making it a reality.

So, over the next few weeks Kyrano spent most of his days working outside on my private balcony and in the area directly below it outside the villa. I was very aware that everything was still a mess after the major excavations to accommodate the silos but when it came to priority and what I wanted to achieve; beautification of the living arrangements was right at the bottom of the list. My whole focus was centered on the design of the roundhouse and its adequacy to camouflage the two-hundred-and-eighty-seven-foot rocket ship we'd just built. Brains was saying he thought there might be a problem with aerial security, and I was keen to do whatever it took to get the matter resolved.

**Two**

On the first night of the fourth week of the botany project, Kyrano found me sitting alone out on my balcony watching the last throes of the Pacific winter sunset. I was tired and agitated when he handed me my drink, and my "thanks" was nothing more than a forced and preoccupied word. I knew he had to be tired too, but as it was with Kyrano, he didn't comment, and I knew better than to ask.

He sat down beside me and remained completely silent until the final pink and orange rays disappeared below the horizon and the balcony was dark. After the day I'd had, the first swallow of single malt proved to be a welcome anaesthetic. So, did its successor, despite the burning sensation down the back of my throat at the speed at which I caught myself downing it.

"Not a good day," he observed.

"No, it wasn't."

It was direct. It was sullen. It was also the only response I knew I could trust. Thunderbird One's control panel had malfunctioned that morning, Scott's discharge from the Air Force was going to take a lot longer than I thought and I'd just spent the last hour listening to Alan complaining that his accelerated astronaut training in Houston was starting to cause havoc with his racing calendar.

"Sometimes the barriers placed before us are designed to test more than just our commitment."

His expression didn't change. His eyes didn't move. He simply stared out over the ocean and threw out riddles, while I struggled with the frustration that was churning inside my gut.

Did he mean it was better that we'd found out about the control panel before my eldest arrived and I gave him the freedom to start testing her? Or that if I wanted Scott to be my field commander, I had to curb my impatience and accept that the Air Force had its protocols? Maybe he was saying I should consider what I was asking my youngest to do when he was only twenty years old and had just graduated from college? Who knew with Kyrano, but I was sure he was alluding to something.

"Maybe," I heard myself grunt back. I wasn't just agitated now. I was downright perturbed.

And as the silence between us continued, the reason for that became pretty apparent to me, too. This had nothing to do with Alan, the Air Force or what had happened with the control panel. Hell, this was about the expectations I kept piling on myself!

Of course, I was glad Brains had picked up on the problem in Thunderbird One. Something like that had the potential to grind us to a halt before we'd even made a start. And no, I wasn't happy about the Air Force even though I was prepared to wait it out if it meant that I'd have Scott's experience at the helm. As for Alan … yes, I did know I was asking a lot from the boy when he'd only just graduated and was currently making a big name for himself in the racing business. I was asking a lot from all of them. Scott, Virgil, John, Gordon and Alan… ... my five sons. Together they would form the backbone of International Rescue.

"How's that botany project of yours going, Kyrano?"

Diversion had always proven to be an excellent mood-breaker. Plus, I wanted to know what the heck he was doing to my balcony. Whatever he was up to, it wasn't proving to be very therapeutic. In fact, chaos was more the word I'd use for all the tangled wires and half-empty pots that greeted me in the mornings when I stepped outside to steal a few moments in the sun. There also wasn't any polite way to explain the impact the organic fertilizer he'd spread downstairs was having on the rest of the household, either. The stench of the stuff completely overwhelmed our senses every single time we took a breath!

"It goes slowly," he said, "as you have already observed." I glanced sideways. Observed? What exactly was I supposed to have observed? Did he mean the wires, the pots, the fertilizer, or all three?

"Sometimes the barriers placed before us are designed to test more than just our commitment," he repeated.

 _What_ barriers? _Whose_ commitment?

"If you ask me, it sounds like we both had a bad day," I ended up muttering, now too confused and exhausted to even argue.

"All will be well with both projects," was how he chose to end the conversation.

Then he rose to his feet, picked up the empty glass and left me alone in the dark to reflect on what the heck he'd just said to me.

**Three**

Week six saw Virgil and John relocate their lives to the island; John first with his quiet, no-nonsense intensity and Virgil three days later, both boys eager to come to grips with the enormity of their new career choices.

"Wow, Dad! This is an amazing set-up!"

You have no idea how much Virgil's enthusiasm meant to me as he sauntered backwards and forwards, arms strategically folded, scrutinizing every layer of detail in the lounge.

"I'm taking it that you approve, then?"

"Oh yes, sir…. yes, I do," he breathed, pausing to admire his mother's old white baby grand.

But a few moments later, he turned back to look at me; eyes guarded and his expression serious.

"I honestly didn't believe that you and Brains would be able to pull this off."

"You mean you doubted me, son?"

I really made it sound like I was disappointed. For a minute I even managed to fake a frown. But the knowing smile I received in return soon reminded me just how easy it had always been for my second eldest to read the mood of the man behind the fatherly façade.

"I should have known better. Right?"

"That's exactly right, son."

After almost twenty-one years of clawing my way to the top of the multi-billion-dollar aerospace business, it was common knowledge that Jeff Tracy never gave up on anything just because it got a little hard.

And what better way to make the point than to sit back and watch as the brother Virgil hadn't seen for over three months made his entrance from Thunderbird Three's Hangar via the couch situated in the middle of the lounge.

"You're kidding me!" was the reaction.

"Hiya, Virg!" John grinned back in response.

"Still having doubts about what your father is capable of?" I chided Virgil.

I didn't wait around to hear the answer. They had a lot of catching up to do.

**Four**

The conversation in the lounge after supper that night was lively to say the least and the most entertaining it had been around here for the past few months.

Kyrano had already excused himself to deal with a private matter involving his daughter's studies at Oxford University in England, and with Virgil tinkering away on the piano and a cognac in my right hand, I was more than happy to sit back and listen to Brains and John exchange technical opinions on the adequacy of the communication systems in our new satellite, Thunderbird Five.

I had to hand it to Brains for holding it together in the face of John's sometimes less than tactful observations. Brains was a man who embraced viable alternatives and he was no stranger when it came to criticism either; but whether my laser communications expert knew that or not, he wasn't wasting any time tiptoeing around.

"I know I'm making it sound like I'm skeptical about her translating capabilities, Brains." Once John got started on something he wasn't about to let up. "But surely you agree with me that unless she's capable of deciphering every single dialect, there's no guarantee we'll be able to respond to _any_ call."

"Ah…ah, well, ah … you do have a valid point, ah… John." Brains had no hesitation whenever he was challenged." However, I'm afraid it's impossible for existing technology to accurately interpret …ah… all of them."

"He's right," came from the direction of Bach's 'Canon in D Major.' "There must be thousands of local dialects out there."

"I know all that Virgil," accompanied John's usual frown. "That's exactly my point. Languages evolve, and they will continue to evolve. That's why I'm saying that without some sort of universal translator there can't be any rock-solid guarantee."

"I, ah… do acknowledge it could prove problematic in certain situations, ah... John."

"Well, why not just agree that we need to build a universal translator?" It was the first time Gordon had spoken since he'd limped into the lounge.

Gordon had been with us since we'd made the move from Kansas. Now discharged from WASP, he'd made a remarkable recovery from the injuries he'd sustained in the hydrofoil accident, even though his back still gave him trouble and his moods tended to be less than ideal at times. The boy was slowly coming to grips with the events that had led to his discharge and the loss of three of his friends who had died under his command. My door was always open, but he seemed to prefer spending most of his time talking to Kyrano, especially when it came to provide the additional manpower for the never-ending, "much-needed" botany project.

"Speaking of guarantees…"

Keen to divert the conversation away from the communication issue, I swallowed the rest of my cognac and moved onto something else. "… I promised Kyrano that the three of you would make yourselves available to fly the corporate jet over to the States for him tomorrow. Story is, he's ordered a couple of things that are ready to be picked up in California."

"All of us, Father?" John frowned, looking in Gordon's direction. Gordon shrugged his shoulders, oblivious. Virgil did the same and the music came to a stop.

"That's what he said." Now I was the one who was doing all the shrugging. "And before you ask, I have no idea what he wants you to pick up, but knowing Kyrano, it'll have something to do with that botany project of his. I said it wouldn't be a problem, boys. We could do with a few more supplies around here, anyway."

After that, they all nodded. No one seemed to have any objections to what I'd just asked them to do.

"Thanks, boys. Kyrano can fill you in on the details. Now if you'll excuse me, it's late and I need to go over some insurance papers for your grandmother."

As I left them in the lounge, I couldn't help but laugh. They didn't even wait until I was out of earshot before the argument got started about who was going to be the one to fly the corporate jet to and from California. It almost made me wonder whether Kyrano had planned this whole thing on purpose.

They would always be competitive as brothers. What I needed was for them to know when to put that behind them and recognize when it was more important to be a team.

**Five**

I'd seen some things in my life that have rendered me speechless... the first time I saw the inside of a cockpit… the earth from the surface of the moon, feeling so close to the stars that all I wanted to do was to reach out and touch them… But in all my years of involvement with aircraft and the rocket ships, I'd never seen anything quite as remarkable as this.

It all started when I followed Brains out of the service elevator into Thunderbird Two's hangar, fourteen hours after the boys had left the island for California. The two of us had spent the day at my desk poring over minor items of inventory and before calling it quits and winding down, I'd decided it would be a good idea to cross-check our work with a quick audit of one of the pods.

You can imagine the looks on our faces when we saw them. We were hundreds of feet under the villa surrounded by a sea of concrete, the last place anyone would expect to see a kaleidoscope of colour perched motionless on top of Two's massive green hull. The only explanation Brains could come up with was a combination of coincidence and sheer bad luck. He guessed they'd been migrating and somehow had become disoriented around the exact same time the hangar had opened for the departure of the corporate jet.

"Other than that, I'm, ah… sorry, Mr. Tracy. I'm afraid I'm not all that familiar with their behavioral patterns."

"You're not the only one." I knew less than he did. "Where the hell's Kyrano? He really needs to come down here and see this."

Kyrano, of course, knew everything about butterflies and I'd never seen the man so delighted in my life. 

They were of the Heliconius genus, he explained from beside me; a colorful and widespread species of long-winged butterflies that were scattered across the tropical and subtropical areas of the Pacific Region.

"They are generally unpalatable to predators because of the poisons they store feeding on passionflower vines as caterpillars." The nature lesson went on. "I have read that their bright wing patterns are designed to serve as a mutually beneficial warning to beware of them."

Then he delivered his own philosophy.

"It is very true when they say that nature is capable of finding its own way without the need for any words."

"What I want to know is how the heck we get them out of here." Nature wasn't the only one capable of finding a way without any words. "They're obviously not going to last long if they think Thunderbird Two is some sort of king-sized passionflower vine, Kyrano."

"Yes," he said. "I concur."

And with that, he bowed his head and shoved his hands into the bright blue satin sleeves of the robe he wore as if he was about to devise some radical action plan.

"We could always, ah, open the outer doors and try to create a disturbance," Brains offered. "It might, ah, work."

" _No, Mister Brains!_ " Kyrano's reaction made it clear that he was having nothing to do with what I was about to say sounded like a darned good suggestion. "They rest here because they are weary," he cautioned; his voice no longer as calm and his features concerned. The ocean is wide and their migration long. It would not be a good thing to force them into unnatural flight without the most genuine of intentions."

"What are you saying we do, then?" I couldn't believe I was about to say this. "Turn off the lights and leave them down here to rest their wings for the night?"

"What we must do is be patient," he said.

And that was all he said.

Then he turned away and re-boarded the elevator, leaving both of us standing there open-mouthed, not sure what we were expected to do next. "What in the blazes was all that supposed to mean?" I asked Brains. For once Brains couldn't find the words to say anything. Like me, he didn't have a clue.

**Six**

"There's at least fifty boxes of them, Father, and I'm not kidding…"

" _Fifty boxes_?"

"Yes sir, for a while I thought I was going to have to leave Gordon and Johnny stateside."

"Fifty… boxes." I had to repeat it, because I simply didn't believe it. Before those butterflies even had Tracy Island on their radar, Kyrano had somehow seen fit to order fifty boxes of their favourite passionflower vines!

"That guy Kyrano sent us to see sure asked a whole heap of questions, Dad."

" _Questions?_ " That was enough for me to forget about passionflower vines and give Virgil my undivided attention. Just before they'd left the island, I'd made it more than clear how I felt about security and the importance of them adhering to the protocols I'd put in place to safeguard the identity of the new rescue organisation. "What kind of questions?" I demanded, the words escaping with far more intensity than intended.

"Well..." Virgil hesitated and glanced back at his two grim-faced brothers who had just walked in behind him from the hall. "Questions like who we were, how we knew Kyrano, what we were setting up on the island...that type of stuff."

"But I'm sure there's nothing for you to worry about, Dad." Gordon was as convincing providing reassurance as he had been faking bravado during rehab. "Once we said the boxes had nothing to do with International Rescue, the guy never said another word."

"You…said...WHAT?" I swear at that moment my blood pressure skyrocketed so high I think it could have blown off the roof. What the hell had happened to my protocols? What about the emphasis I'd placed on our security? My mouth kept right on moving but by now no sound was coming out. This had the potential to change everything; all our work, all my future plans… And then I realised they were laughing at me, co-conspirators in what was obviously intended to be nothing more than a great, big joke.

"That wasn't funny, boys."

Red-faced, I grumbled the words into my whiskey glass, feeling annoyed, totally relieved and a complete idiot all at once. "The security of this base is no laughing matter. Do I make myself clear?" Obviously, their flight had been a bit too long because they didn't recognise expectation when they heard it. I lowered my voice another octave. "I said do I make myself clear?"

After that, you could have heard a pin drop. The boys knew I had a sense of humor, but they also knew it could be almost non-existent if I thought they got carried away or the joke went too far.

"I'm sorry, Father." Virgil was the first to apologize, followed by Gordon, and a now repentant, John.

"Dad… the guy hardly spoke to us."

"Yeah Dad, we were only kidding around."

"Well, I'm _not_ kidding," I huffed back, looking around for Kyrano who was conveniently nowhere to be found. "The security jokes are bad enough but do you three realise that I've just sent an executive jet over seventeen and a half thousand miles to pick up fifty boxes of passionflower vines for a bunch of disoriented _butterflies_?"

I really don't know what I expected in response to my outburst. A little empathy perhaps; maybe even sympathy. I'd been complaining for six months that my executive jet chewed up the juice faster than it ever racked up the miles. But if I was expecting anything, I'm afraid they weren't about to give it to me. Lowered eyelids failed to hide tightly pressed lips, trying to control their amusement as I looked them up and down.

"Our...err...first successful rescue mission, sir?" Virgil eventually had the bravery to pipe up.

"Butterflies calling International Rescue?" Gordon offered.

"I did warn you those translators weren't going to be adequate enough, Dad" smirked John.

_Butterflies calling International Rescue..._

Even I had to laugh at that. This whole botany thing was becoming so ridiculously co-incidental that there was no other way for me to treat what was happening than as a joke.

"Get out of here!" Half-growling, I dismissed them, the battle lost to remain in commander mode. "Between Kyrano, you boys and this damned botany project, I swear I'm on the verge of going nuts!"

**Seven**

" Operation Butterfly" was complete by the time I sauntered into the kitchen the next morning to find Kyrano leaning on the bench top scrolling through menus and the various domestic accounts. I don't know when he did it or exactly how he did it – all he said was that the hangar was now "clear of our visitors," the passionflower vines had "served the intended purpose" and his main focus over the next few days was to transplant the contents of the fifty boxes into the pots he'd left on my balcony and the garden taking shape outside the house.

The boys, still joking about the night before, offered to pitch in to help complete the work. To be honest, I think the offer was more about wanting to see the back of the botany project rather than any real generosity on their part. We all agreed it would be nice to sit back and drink our morning coffee without gagging or having to hold our breath.

Breakfast over, I decided to retire to my office; determined not to be disturbed by any of the frivolity I knew would eventuate from the digging, watering and planting. It was time to review the financial figures of the business and decide if the time was right to free up the amount I needed to build the Firefly and complete the Mole.

The Mole was to be one of our key pieces of rescue equipment and over the last few months most of her components had been under discreet manufacture as separate orders in the various Tracy Corporation plants. Once the actual drilling mechanism came out of production, it wouldn't take long for us to assemble her. The same methodology would then be applied to the Firefly, but for now the Mole was priority number one.

It was a critical milestone and taking into consideration my self-imposed deadline, I pored over the figures and then made the decision to go ahead.

If we could deliver a machine to the world with a capability as amazing as this one, it was going to make such a difference in a tight situation and save so many more people's lives.

**Eight**

I've never been a spiritual man; in fact, since the night my wife died, I've struggled with the whole concept that there really is a God. It's a sore point with my mother who continues to remind me that I was raised to have faith no matter what. No disrespect to her beliefs or to my Kansas upbringing, but after what happened to Lucy, I wasn't going to change my mind.

Therefore, it was with genuine irritation three weeks later that I lifted my eyes from the five-million-dollar aerospace contract I was studying, knitted my eyebrows together and asked Kyrano if he really thought I was a man "who believed in any of that crap?"

Unflinching, he continued, ignoring the fact that I'd also taken off my glasses and was massaging the bridge of my nose to control my impatience.

"The butterfly and its life cycle do contain a great deal of spiritual meaning, sir."

Butterflies… life cycles… what the hell was _wrong_ with the man? He didn't need to be Einstein to figure out I wasn't in the mood for this. I'd called him in here to investigate if we needed to bring in an exterminator, not tell me that the culprit might be some damn metaphor for the so-called spiritual journey of the soul!

"This…" I bit back, brandishing the latest itchy, red welt on my forearm as evidence, "...was not caused by a butterfly. This was caused by another one of those blasted caterpillars! Don't you even try to convince me those things are supposed to be a message for my soul!"

Scowling, I began scratching again. Caterpillars were ugly, they were a nuisance and it was the tenth darned one I'd encountered out on my balcony in the space of less than a week!

Now, if there was one thing Kyrano had managed to master over the years, it was how to drag me into one of his debates and then proceed to railroad me with the gift he had for selective fact evasion. Instead of admitting I was right and offering to do something about it, he then started to ramble on about the caterpillar being a symbolic reminder that we all begin our lives as simple creatures, learning how to function in the world.

"We crawl through our lives doing day-to-day things, always wanting more. Then one day, like the caterpillar, we decide to look for more meaning and commence the journey to find our inner selves."

I nearly choked... inner selves?

"Some focus inwards, wrapping themselves in a cocoon. Others pray or take comfort in the spiritual truths. Whatever the chosen path, one thing is inevitable. We will all re-emerge ready to share our new selves with the world. It is therefore my belief that, much like the butterfly, we will realise our intended purpose and then spread our wings to fly."

I loved Kyrano. I really did. No man could ask for a more honest or trustworthy friend. I confided in him like I would a brother. I was educating his daughter as if she were my own. But, boy oh boy, once I realised the intention behind him expressing his theories on human metamorphism, the conversation was over.

My pen hit the desk.

Enough was enough.

"I _know_ who I am! "I snapped back, stabbing my finger into the hard-won contract. "And I can assure you that I re-emerged from that cocoon very quickly twenty years ago. And unlike in _your_ analogy, I didn't have the time to figure out if I was ready to spread my wings. I had to pick myself up from damn rock bottom and just get my ass out there and _fly_!"

When I was growing up on the wheat farm, my father had always encouraged me to be slow when it came to anger. He said all human beings felt frustration, pain, fear and hurt at times. It was part of the day to day business of living, something a man had to deal with, and no matter what, feeling anger was no excuse for justifying any uncivilized behaviour. He also said that a minute of patience in a moment of anger had saved many a man from a thousand hours of hell and regret.

And he was right.

I immediately regretted what I'd said to Kyrano. How could a few words of wisdom and a brush against a stupid caterpillar cause a reaction in me as hostile as this?

"I don't expect you to understand me, Kyrano." Struggling to compose myself, I couldn't lift my eyes from the black marble floor. "There's still so much to do around here and that caterpillar was the last straw."

It wasn't much of an apology. In fact, if Dad had been around, it wouldn't even have qualified as close. The minutes that followed felt like hours, and it didn't help when he refused to let me off the hook.

"Sometimes I think I understand you more than you understand yourself, Jeff Tracy," he said quietly. Then he turned away in silence to leave me alone in the darkening room.

**Nine**

On reflection, I supposed Kyrano did understand me. He knew all about the dark days and how I felt about resigning my commission. He knew about the birth and the initially-shaky expansion of my aerospace business, my views on life in general and the fact that we both believed there needed to be so much more compassion for the human race to survive. He also understood the fire that burned deep inside me, the fire that continued to drive me forward, determined to make a difference in this often-stinking world.

The only thing he didn't understand was that there were some things I didn't want to talk about, and he wasn't going to get me to do it by manipulating me with words.

**Ten**

The warmth of the sun on my back, the aroma of the freshly brewed coffee from the cup beside my hand, the sound of waves crashing against a nearby rocky outcrop … … and the sudden flash of colour that distracted me from my work as it fluttered around the balcony and dived in and out of the passionflower vines.

It had now been twelve weeks since Kyrano had started the botany project and I was really starting to wonder if he ever intended the thing to end. Yesterday, we'd retreated into Thunderbird One's hangar the moment we got the first whiff. He said it was necessary to bring the rest of the flowers he'd planted to life. All I know is that I'd stayed down there for hours and hours to avoid an altercation with him over the latest putrid dose.

Comfortable that I could afford to take a few minutes out of my schedule, I leaned back in the chair and sipped the coffee from my cup.

The butterfly was a beautiful thing, orange, black, brown and yellow, sailing up and down in the gentle sea breeze, vibrant against the blue, cloudless sky. Another man of physics might have focused purely on its aerodynamic capabilities, but for now I was more content to just sit here and watch it; mesmerized, my whole mind pleasantly blank. I'd even go so far as to say I almost felt a sense of peace within myself. Not that I'd tell Kyrano that. I hated it when the man was right.

I don't know how long I sat there; long enough to startle when the vid-phone inside my suite starting ringing non-stop, and for my mother's anxious face to fill the screen as if she thought something was wrong.

"Jeff, you were supposed to call me over two hours ago," she fretted.

_"Two hours?"_

Frowning, I glanced down at the blue fluorescent numbers flashing at the bottom right hand side of the vid-screen. It couldn't be after seven over there already, now could it?

"Son," she complained, "it's almost five past nine."

I raked a hand through my hair and mumbled a tired apology. It was hard enough for her to adjust to the five-hour time difference between us, let alone allowing myself to be distracted and then forgetting to call.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I must have lost track of the time. Tell me, has old Ned Beaufort dropped by to replace those roof sheets on the barn for me yet?"

"Yes, yes..." she said, "…of course he has. He came by first thing this morning. And just in time, too, if you want to believe what they've been saying on the newscast. Storms right across the State for the rest of the week ... big storms, Jeff. You know how nervous I get when they say things like that."

"Yes, Mother. I do."

Leaving my mother alone on the farm in Kansas; it was the one thing that had made the decision to move out here so difficult. Mother was now at the age where she needed someone around to keep an eye on her and there was no disputing that not having us there had left her feeling a little vulnerable. I'd already promised myself that once we commenced operations, I'd strike a better life balance and spend much more time taking care of her.

After I'd reassured her that the farmhouse had survived everything nature had thrown at it for the past ninety years, we reverted to our daily ritual of discussing what was happening in Kansas, how things were with the boys and the progress of the last twenty-four hours on the island.

"I can't wait for you to see what we've got out here, Mother."

I probably sounded like a college kid, but I think I could be forgiven for being just a little bit pleased with myself. After all these years, my dream of a worldwide rescue organisation was about to be realised. No-one would believe the caliber of the machines we'd built or the capability they had to save human lives. In less than three months, Scott would be discharged from the Air Force. Alan was on track to finish his astronaut training in Houston not long after that. Then, I warned her, the real work would start, and it was work that had nothing to do with carving out mountains, disguising subterranean infrastructure or building incredible machines.

"Moulding your grandsons into a rescue team isn't going to be an easy thing, Mother."

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she laughed, wished me luck and agreed.

And then right out of nowhere she came out with something that completely floored me.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you this happy, son. I swear if I didn't know those machines were the cause of it, I'd start to think that you'd fallen in love."

**Eleven**

"Love," I scoffed the word into the bottom of my whiskey glass.

If that wasn't enough to convince me I needed to move my mother out here as soon as possible, I didn't know what else was.

She knew as well as I did that my perfect life had ended in a hospital room twenty years ago and I wasn't about to let that particular compartment in my memory start leaking again any time soon. Yes, I was happy, and she'd said she was happy I was happy. Our conversation had ended with my acknowledgement that I hadn't felt this way in a very long time. But if she thought this came close to the type of happiness I'd once known and lost, not only was she delusional...

...she was very, very wrong.

**Twelve**

She was there in the morning when the automatic drapes slid open. She danced left and right, bobbing in and out of the passionflower vines. Then she folded back her wings and basked on a petal dangling precariously in the sunshine. It was only when I gave in and allowed myself to watch her that she lifted high into the air, teased my sense of direction with her antics and disappeared, the breeze carrying her away into the warm spring afternoon.

There were other butterflies, too, but she was the most colorful, and the only one that lingered whenever I worked out on the balcony. It had almost gotten to the stage where I made a point of looking for her whenever I was out there.

"Differences between the male and the female butterfly," I tapped into my keyboard when I was sure no-one else was around. The last thing I wanted was for Kyrano to think I was interested, and I knew from experience that technology could be a very discreet teacher. "Males often patrol in search of females and females spend a lot of time searching for plants on which to lay their eggs."

I smiled with satisfaction as I scrolled through the information. Something told me my gender assessment of that butterfly was going to be right!

Late the next afternoon I joined the boys down by the pool, where they were cooling off after a day of testing the additional sonar equipment Brains had fitted to our marine craft, Thunderbird Four. John saw me first and grinned from behind designer sunglasses before Gordon caught sight of me and laughed out loud at my bare feet and bright blue Hawaiian shirt.

"Listen here," I protested, determined to defend myself. "I've spent the last twenty years chained to the tie and the business suit and there's no need for me to be wearing any of it right now. Have either of you seen Brains? He said he needed me to meet him down here."

Ten minutes earlier, I'd received a garbled message via my wrist communicator that Brains thought he'd figured out a way to speed up the pool's retraction system to enable the faster launch of Thunderbird One.

"I think he's in the garden talking to Kyrano about something, Father."

Startled, I hadn't noticed Virgil, who was working on a canvas under a nearby palm tree, face relaxed and brown eyes intent.

According to him, minutes earlier Kyrano had approached Brains asking for advice on how he could lessen the impact of the next batch of fertilizer. "Looks like we're back in the hangars tomorrow," he grinned, without looking away from his artwork.

"Kyrano's asking for advice? Humph, that's got to be a first."

When it came to botany, Kyrano didn't ask advice about anything. And from Brains, of all people? Brains had a brilliant mind, but I was pretty darn sure it didn't extend to solving the miseries of organic nasal torture.

"Let's hope he comes up with something then," I added hopefully. Anything had to be better than what we were putting up with now.

"What do you think, Dad?"

Now Virgil was motioning me forward, keen for me to view the progress of his latest masterpiece. I smiled tightly and readied myself for my usual, "that's very interesting, son," expecting his taste for the abstract to once again leave me speechless or at least struggling to find the right words. However, much to my surprise it was a beautiful scenic piece; his rendition of the view out towards the small uninhabited island we'd just named Mateo …

"…and two butterflies," I said out loud.

"They're everywhere, Dad," he enthused, looking around him. "Don't you think their colours are amazing? I wish I was able to get closer to take in the finer detail."

"The dorsal wing of the female is predominantly brown if that helps," came out of my mouth before I knew it. "They also have rounder abdomens." I pointed to the one he'd sketched at the forefront of the canvas. "It wouldn't take much for you to capture that aspect here… and probably…here."

It didn't take long for the disbelief to pepper his whole expression.

"Dad?"

At first, I thought he hadn't heard me until I started to repeat myself and realised how ridiculous it sounded. Jeff Tracy was an aerospace engineer with a specialization in astronautics. He'd made his money supervising the manufacture of fighter jets, rockets, missiles and commercial planes. Jet propulsion was his idea of a stimulating discussion, not dorsal wings and abdomens. So, I muttered that it was something I must have read somewhere once.

"Don't ask me where because I can't remember where it was."

For a while I was sure that Virgil believed me. He made the changes to the canvas and then asked me if I thought he'd interpreted what I'd said about the female was right. But before I could answer, his "interest" melted into that irresistible signature grin of his.

"I never thought Kyrano could turn you into a nature lover," he chuckled.

"Kyrano had nothing to do with this!" I spluttered.

"Of course, he didn't, sir." Virgil was still laughing as he returned to his work. "How about you blame it on the Botany Project? So far it's worked for everything else!"

**Thirteen**

Two months later, unable to sleep, I leaned on the railing outside the main lounge waiting for the dawn to break over the 'tranquillity' of my tropical island home.

Over the last few days, even physical exhaustion had proven no match for these unexplained feelings of anxiety. I couldn't remember the last time I'd succumbed to self-doubt, but no matter how many times I berated myself for the mindset, I couldn't seem to overcome it. It was starting to become as annoying as all hell.

Determined that today was going to be different, I closed my eyes, slowly inhaling and exhaling, only breaking my rhythm when the first rays of sunlight teased at my eyelids, insisting that it was time for me to get to work. Anxiety or not, I couldn't afford to lose momentum. We'd come way too far now for any of this to stop.

I looked above the sun as it rose over the horizon and reflected on our progress over the last two months. The Mole and the Firefly were complete. Brains had developed a universal translator. All five Thunderbird craft were ready and waiting for final testing. All that was left was for Scott and Alan to join us and for me to green light the alternative launching procedure Brains had developed for Thunderbird Four.

It was no secret that I had been deliberate in delaying the second trial of the controversial procedure. It was dangerous work and the role I'd asked Gordon to play in International Rescue had been on my mind a lot more, lately. Despite all the laughing, the high jinx, pranks and joking, I still wasn't one hundred per cent convinced that the boy was going to be up to the task.

Almost on cue, I caught movement in the pool area below me. I heard the sharp intake of breath, then the stifled expletives. It didn't take much to guess which son was having trouble. It was Gordon attempting to stretch his back and shoulders in preparation for an early morning swim.

His movements were slow, a stark reminder that his body was still healing. It would take a long time, the doctors had warned me, but he was young and determined and at the time, I hadn't been prepared to underestimate my son. Maybe the anxiety was some sort of warning that I hadn't given him long enough? Damn it, he hadn't yet confided in me how he felt about what had happened to his friends in the hydrofoil accident.

Over the years, I'd made some monumental mistakes raising my sons. Trying to be father and mother; always worried that I was failing at both. How many times had I beaten myself up when my work had to come first or when Mother needed to step in and make decisions on my behalf? How many times had I missed their ball games? Wished things could be different just for once? I gave up my career to make sure that I raised our boys right. Never give up at any cost, I kept on telling myself. The only coherent words I'd been able to muster as I'd watched Gordon fighting for his life.

I moved away from the railing. I needed to sort this out. Everyone kept saying to me that time would heal him. Witnessing how much he was struggling, now I wasn't quite so sure.

"All things that are intended to be, will be, Jeff Tracy."

My old friend had said that to me last night, before retiring to his suite. Only now did I realise just how accurately he could read me.

"Yes, they will, Kyrano," I murmured, my determination building. "Yes, they will."

**Fourteen**

A few hours later, I made a point of calling Gordon into my office. Not my new office in the lounge with its sweeping views over the Pacific, but my "old office" office, the quiet solitude of my private suite, balcony in full bloom, courtesy of the never-ending botany project.

In a moment of good-natured weakness, I'd finally admitted to Kyrano that he was right about the benefits of mixing nature with residential infrastructure. The passionflower vines were now in full bloom and their scent wafted through my suite; warm honey as the sun touched on them in the early morning, the sweetness of cotton candy as it sank below the horizon at night. Even the rustle of the palm trees in the garden made it easy to relax without the need for that additional glass of scotch.

Or it had until recently.

My mind refocused on the job.

The tap on the door was tentative. He knew something was up. His eyes had clouded the moment I'd said that I wanted a word with him away from his brothers.

"Jeff, I'm not sure this is the right thing to do," Mother had cautioned me on the vid-phone not five minutes before.

I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do either, but my gut was telling me that this was it. As a commander, his physical fitness was something I was prepared to work around. As his father, I couldn't allow myself to be his commander unless I was one hundred per cent certain that I wasn't putting him at risk. I had a box full of medical assessments telling me everything I needed to know about the physical and mental condition of my son. To me, those assessments meant nothing unless I heard it from the boy himself.

"Sir?" he queried after closing the door and accepting my invitation to come and sit with me on the balcony.

Sir...

I might have worried about my adequacy to be both father and mother, but one thing was for sure, I always knew the score the moment one of them opened their mouth. He sounded like he was expecting me to dish out some kind of admonishment. Fair enough. If it worked in my favor I'd let him think that for now. "

Gordon, I want to talk to you about today's trial," I started out. "The alternative launching procedure for Thunderbird Four…"

He sat up straight in the chair and nodded at me, interested. "It's been a long time coming, sir. That last simulation sure left us a little rattled."

"Rattled isn't quite the word I'd use." Frowning, I didn't think I needed to remind him about the heated exchange of obscenities I'd heard. "You boys are going to have to watch yourselves when I bring your grandmother out here to live with us."

He nodded again, careful in his response.

"Yes, sir," he said. "We all know."

I asked him if he was comfortable with the subtle changes Brains had made to the launching sequence after the original had backfired and he'd almost flipped her one eighty in the simulator. He admitted there were one or two things he still needed to get his head around, but as far as he was concerned, the changes made were minor and he and Virgil planned to go over them again before they attempted the actual procedure.

"That's good, then." I kept my tone upbeat. I'd already spoken to Virgil earlier and asked him to offer to go with him just to be sure. "As long as you think you're up to it, son, I see no reason to keep putting this off."

My sons were all astute and especially this one. At no stage had I indicated that the trial wasn't going to go ahead, at least not yet, but he must have sensed I had reservations. He looked at me, concerned.

"Sir, I _am_ more than capable of doing what you need me to do."

A lieutenant in WASP before his twenty-first birthday… a tough, gritty young survivor … a boy with so much potential that it would be wrong to deny him any opportunity to still reach it. The realization hit me hard as he sat there, eyes full of anxiety, waiting for me to say something. The hydrofoil accident hadn't just robbed him of his career and closest friends. It had ruptured his confidence and he thought I'd brought him here to be cut.

_"Be careful with him, Jeff."_

My mother had helped me raise him. She knew what made him tick.

But then I saw the butterfly sitting motionless amongst the passionflower vines. I knew what _she'd_ do, too.

"Of course you're capable, son," I said as if there had never been any question about it. "In fact, I wouldn't mind taking the time to trial this one with you myself."

**Fifteen**

The week before Scott was due to arrive, Kyrano and I took time out to enjoy a mid-afternoon stroll.

For an hour and a half we wandered along the island foreshore before doubling back around the base of the roundhouse and heading in the direction of the garden leading up to the side entrance of the house.

The warm November breeze caused us to linger long enough for him to point out the different species of flowers and for both of us to appreciate their various exotic scents. It was hard not to feel a sense of anticipation for our first summer in this beautiful place, especially watching all the butterflies dance in and out and around them.

"It's almost December," he commented. I swear the man could read my mind. "In the spring the island flowers are sweet and delicately fragrant but in the summer months their beauty will take our breath away."

"Kyrano, sometimes I think you should have been a writer, not a botanist," I joked.

His eyebrows lifted. "That is different. May I ask why?"

For once he sounded like he was genuinely surprised.

"Well, for one, you've always had a way with words. And two, even though I don't know how you do it, somehow you make me see things… things I don't see that easily. If you … err… know what I mean."

My explanation tapered off awkwardly.

"We all have that ability," he said, after a short reflection. "I think it is often more a matter of the timing of when our eyes finally choose for us to see."

We began walking again.

"I remember when I was young and first married to Tin-Tin's mother. During our travels, I often spoke of my yearning for the warmth of Malaysia's year-long summer. Since then I have learned how important it is to appreciate each of the seasons as they are given to us."

I glanced sideways at him.

"And I’m guessing there's some sort of advice in there for me, Kyrano?"

His eyes met mine.

"If advice is what you are seeking."

I looked away again.

"Right."

I shoved my hands in my pockets and mulled over his words. Longing for the year-long summer... no, not me. I'd hated the heat and the parched earth of the summers when I'd lived on the farm in Kansas. Appreciating the seasons… the winters there were even worse. It might be true that I had sought him out because I needed his advice about something, but I wanted the one in charge of this conversation to be me, not him.

"The final testing begins a week from tomorrow," I said, changing the subject.

"So soon," was all he politely observed.

"Ah, you know what Scott's like. He'd launch Thunderbird One as soon as he got here if he could. I've told him he needs to give himself twenty-four hours to settle in at least. There's a lot riding on how well he makes the transition from the military back to life out here as a civilian."

"You are concerned."

It wasn't a question. Kyrano didn't ask questions. He only made statements; with every single one of them always seeming to burrow deep down inside me, leaving behind an obligation to provide him with an explanation.

"Scott knows what he's let himself in for." I was one hundred percent confident about that. "He'll adapt, and he'll do it quickly. What worries me, Kyrano, is that he's coming home to lead his brothers. You've seen my boys together. I don't want to ask him to do anything that might screw that up."

By now our pace had slowed a little as we wandered back through a cluster of palm trees towards the sandy slope that would lead us down to a mile of open beach. He said the chances of that happening were highly unlikely. I said that was what I kept trying to tell myself, too.

"Scott's always been a leader and the others have followed him ever since their mother died. But Kyrano, we both know what's at stake here." I stopped and levelled my eyes directly with his. "Should I be expecting him to do that? Is it worth me taking the risk?"

For a full two minutes he looked straight through me with no indication of what he might be thinking. I had no idea whether he agreed or disagreed with me. Hell, he didn't give one outward sign that might have even allowed me to take a guess.

It was only when I sighed in frustration and told him to forget it that he said, "First one must define risk," before indicating our conversation should continue in seclusion, leaving me no choice but to follow him down onto the beach.

**Sixteen**

Consequence never formed part of the equation when it came down to the Jeff Tracy definition of risk.

The decision to serve my country from behind the controls of a USAF fighter jet... …crazy acrobatics… A first response pilot behind enemy lines before I'd reached the age of twenty-five.

"Back then, I thought I was invincible, Kyrano. I was raw, ambitious, and so determined to prove myself. Even I can't believe some of the stupid things I did. Adrenalin is one of the most dangerous drugs there is."

Then the World Space Agency approached me to consider furthering my career as an astronaut. "It was the biggest thing that had ever happened to me and of course, I jumped at the chance. I never saw exploring the universe as a risky business. The colonization of the moon was a really big deal."

He bowed his head to acknowledge the truth of the statement. "It was. I remember it well."

Not long after that, I met my wife and that brought with it exposure to a whole new kind of risk. I never regretted it, but I sure didn't appreciate her timing.

"I still remember that day, Kyrano; the day she told me. You know how it is... hearing you're going to be a father changes everything, right down to how you view the world and assess your own worth.

For a while I even considered withdrawing from the space programme and it got worse once we were married and during the months after Scott was born. I just couldn't stop thinking about how tough it would be if I had some sort of accident and she had to raise him on her own."

"Yet, you did not withdraw."

"No, I didn't."

I had two grounded parents and a wife who refused to let me give up my dreams, even though in order for me to fulfil them she had no choice but to sacrifice her own.

"It is never an easy thing to ask someone else to risk everything for a dream no-one but you can see," he empathized.

"That's exactly what she said."

"Then, I think your wife knew you very well."

With every lead-up mission my confidence grew; and with it my determination to keep juggling my responsibilities and be the very best father I could. Instead of one son, I now came home to two. By the time I embarked on the actual lunar landing I was back to feeling like I was invincible again. Twelve months later I was holding number three in my arms.

"It was a big responsibility. Handling three of them was tough."

"And yet, you accomplished it."

"Of course, I did. I had to. I was their father, Kyrano."

I was promoted to colonel six months after John was born. I was convinced I could handle it, but the juggling act was becoming harder. It wasn't just a matter of providing for a wife and three young boys anymore. Now I had a reputation in the space programme to keep up.

"They had to pull me out of training to tell me I'd missed the arrival of Gordon. Early delivery, they said; a very quick birth. She coped so well; tried to pretend she hadn't needed me. When I showed up at the hospital she even joked with the doctor that she was starting to become way too efficient with this baby business. But then somehow with …"

"Mister Alan," Kyrano said, quietly filling in the gap.

"That's right." I cleared my throat and felt every part of me snap shut.

"Nothing taught me more about the consequences of taking risks than Alan did... ... so, there's no point in either of us dwelling on the rest."

**Seventeen**

I couldn't be unravelling. Not after twenty years of being in control.

I watched my fingers clench and unclench on the keyboard, impatient. Why did it always take this site so damn long to load?

Things had been just fine until he'd started the botany project. When I wanted to think about the past, I allowed to myself to think about it. When I couldn't, I wouldn't. Her memory existed face down in the back of my desk drawer.

What had he said as I'd walked away from him on the beach? That like death, taking risks was just another example of life's transformation. That despite time putting a distance of years between two people, one day they would fly together again, happy in another dimension.

I could live with his reminder that it had taken her loss for me to grow. I'd long since dealt with the fact that my summer had never been destined to be a life-time and like him, I needed to be grateful for the other seasons it had created in my life – like building my business and watching my sons grow.

 _The Heliconius genus species can live for up to six months_.

A part of me went into denial as my mind calculated the math. It had been five months now. It meant at best, she only had one.

That butterfly had given me so much happiness these last few months. Something beautiful and bright – a reminder that my memories belonged where I could reach them … not trapped in a compartment of my mind or face down under paperwork in a drawer.

 _"Nothing is forever, honey."_ For the first time since my wife died, Mother's awkward words of comfort suddenly made perfect sense.

As did Kyrano's.

We do need to appreciate all the seasons as they are given to us. Just as nothing worthwhile would ever happen without someone taking the risk. The revelation was so simple that all I could do was sit there, stunned.

Was this what he meant when he started the botany project and said it might be the catalyst for some sort of final rite of passage?

**Eighteen**

I stood behind his brothers, holding my breath as we watched him on the vidscreen, roaring around the racetrack at some ridiculous speed, about to enter the final and most critical lap. This was the tightest one yet and I wasn't too pleased when I'd heard about the slippery conditions.

"Take it easy, son," I muttered as I watched him swerve dangerously, then accelerate further, ready to challenge Victor Gomez for the front. It would only take one lapse in concentration … one critical error of judgement…

"Dad, I think he's going to pull this thing off!"

Minutes later, he proved Virgil right while the other two hooted and hollered, hugged each other on the couch and high fived. I was glad they were excited because I was still trying to convince my heart it didn't belong in my throat. Not one of them had noticed how close Alan had just come to slamming head first into the crash barrier.

The boy was pretty pleased with himself, too, if his antics on the podium were anything to go by.

"Whoa! I hope Grandma isn't watching!" laughed John while Gordon winked and elbowed Virgil hard.

Yeah. I groaned at the thought of it. You and me both... I was sure Miss Kentucky didn't need to take her congratulatory duties that seriously. If they kept this up, they'd both need an ambulance and if Mother was tuned in, I could almost guarantee that in less than five minutes I'd be on the receiving end of a call.

"Aww, Dad," he grinned back, blond hair still dripping on the other end of the vid-phone. "She was in a couple of my classes at Harvard. We were only hamming it up to have a little fun."

" _Fun?_ You try telling that to your grandmother!" I wasn't very happy with him, in case he hadn't guessed. "And half the world's press..."

"But there weren't that many reporters …"

"There's always one too many for me, Alan."

His face fell when he realised I was being serious. "I'm sorry, sir," he sighed.

Okay, maybe I was exaggerating about the size of the media contingent, but it had finally just hit me how difficult it was going to be for International Rescue to operate as a top-secret rescue organisation. I might have turned my back on the world to live my life on a tropical island but to the press I was still Jefferson Tracy, ex-astronaut, the man behind the biggest aerospace corporation in the world. Word was out that Scott had been decorated for bravery by the Air Force. John was about to publish the latest in a series of several books. Now there was the added complication of Alan becoming the youngest person ever to win a major racing-car series. I didn't even want to think about the number of people who still remembered Gordon's Olympic gold medal performance or the amount of artwork that Virgil had recently sold.

"All I can say is you need to make the most of the next few weeks, son." I unfolded my arms and tried my best to lighten up. "You've only got two left in Houston and by then we'll be ready for you."

"I realise that, sir." He almost sounded disappointed. "I guess I was just happy to win the Championship before you were."

"Oh hell Alan..." I couldn't help myself. "… you know I'm happy for you too, son."

No matter what the boy did, I'd never been able to stay mad at him for long.

Alan hadn't hesitated when I'd approached him, aged only nineteen, to stand beside his brothers and be a part of International Rescue. At the time I was worried whether I was doing the right thing, expecting someone so young and lacking in life experience to fully understand the commitment. Twenty months later, he still had some growing up to do but after the way he'd applied himself to his astronaut training I had no reason to doubt that he would give it his best shot.

In fact, it was Mother who'd first pointed it out to me. How ironical it was that Alan was so keen to follow in my footsteps as an astronaut.

I remember the first time she insisted I hold him. I was still trying to come to grips with what had happened and the last thing I needed was to be told that I had to come to grips with him. It took more courage for me to look into the eyes of my newborn son than it had ever taken to command any kind of lunar mission.

The next day I made the decision to resign my commission.

Some things in life would always be worth more than a career.

**Nineteen**

He meditated every evening and made a point of never facing the west.

"That way the sun never sinks in my eyes," he once told me. I always declined the offer to join him, saying that I didn't have the time.

I watched him tonight as he sat cross-legged on the floor of the roundhouse... eyes closed, breathing deeply; seemingly at peace in his own hypnotic world. I was hesitant to interrupt his ritual to remind him that John and I needed time to fine tune the telescope. Saturn was at its highest in opposition with the earth tonight and we didn't want to miss the spectacle as it unfurled.

His lips began to move slowly, carefully, reverently. It was hard to believe that this man had once lived a life of turmoil, his days filled with uncertainty, every minute of them sheer hell. We had spoken many times about the horror of those years. How he'd struggled against a half-brother hell bent on stealing his inheritance; raised his daughter without her mother; what it was like to endure misery and experience human greed at its worst.

Like I said, I don't believe in anything spiritual. It's life that cuts the deck and deals you the cards. You play the hand as best you can. Win or lose, time moves on. Yet, despite the hand that life had dealt to Kyrano, he remained adamant that reflection on the past was not only necessary, but vital.

"If one chooses to ignore the pain of the journey," he insisted, "how can one find peace even after the journey is done?" 

The distant clatter of equipment and the echo of boots against the tiling told me that it was almost seven thirty and John had just entered the roundhouse. I was pleased to hear he was still joining me after our earlier difference of opinion. Things had started to get a little heated in the hangar when I'd dropped the bombshell on how I was intending to handle the launch of Thunderbird Five.

 _"What?"_ had been his choked reaction when I announced that it would be me at the helm of Thunderbird Three when we took the core of the communications satellite up. Given my experience in space I figured I'd earned the privilege and it had never entered my head that he was expecting to be tasked with the job.

"Needless to say, you'll be the co-pilot, John," I'd said, oblivious. "And I think I'll ask Alan to come along to reinforce his training and observe."

I guess I should have known better than to think he'd take news like that lying down. John had a master's degree in laser communications, had just completed his PhD in astronomy and above all, at twenty-four, was a fully trained astronaut who'd given up a promising career to help me fulfil my dream of creating a worldwide rescue organisation.

"Dad, you haven't been into space for over twenty years," he'd argued. To which I'd foolishly snapped,

"Time has nothing to do with this, John."

If only I'd replayed the words fast enough for me to realise the inference. The next thing I knew he was snatching up his paperwork and stalking full pace towards the door.

John had never been easy, even as a kid. When I lost his mother, he was only three years old; a precocious, over-intelligent, at times sullen child who was so difficult to manage that I'd demanded Mother explain to me how in the blazes I was supposed to cope. Mother, of course, did more than just that, saying it was high time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and realised what a blessing the boy was. Precocious meant he was gifted; the over-intelligence would probably land him a college degree before he was twelve and if I thought being sullen was something new around here, maybe I needed to take a good look at myself in the nearest mirror.

"Father," was how he greeted me and with hesitation, not expecting to see Kyrano meditating to the right of me on the floor. "Is he done yet?" he leaned in towards me and whispered.

"Beats me," I mouthed back. This could go on for hours for all I knew. Long enough to leave us with no choice but to scramble outside with the portable telescopes, and that particular option didn't appeal to me at all. I hadn't had to set up anything portable for over fifteen years, ever since the night a certain eight-year-old informed me he'd taught himself to identify the various constellations and was now capable of watching the stars on his own.

"Then it doesn't matter if you have to work late, Daddy." 

Those first five years had been so hard.

The minutes ticked by and Kyrano didn't budge. Saturn was set to rise in less than an hour and the only other vantage point on the island was an area up near the cliff-face we'd christened 'The Point', which meant at least a two-mile walk to the far end of the island.

"I'll see you out there," he said before striding away, brisk as usual. I couldn't help but shoot a begrudging look in the direction of Kyrano as I turned to follow.

Maybe it was my imagination, the shadows, or my failure to appreciate the inconvenience but I was sure he had one eye open and satisfaction written all over his stoic face. If I ever found out he was doing this to me deliberately...

But then again, wasn't everything Kyrano did around here deliberate?

**Twenty**

A gentle breeze was blowing, and the palm leaves were rustling as I ambled along with a flashlight, looking up at Saturn rising in the brilliant southern sky. It had taken me almost an hour to find my battered old telescope. Someone had shoved the blasted thing into one of the boxes stacked up in the corner of the storeroom – the last place any thinking man would look.

"Well, you haven't used your telescope in a very long time, sir." Virgil's shrugged reminder only served to fan the memory.

"Well, I'm using it tonight, all right?" I'd said, swallowing my irritation. Then, before he could find anything else useful to say, I'd slipped out with it via the side door.

John was already in observation mode by the time I made it out to the cliff. Below us, the waves struck its base with gentle intensity; above us only the glittering darkness and the lure of outer space.

"I thought you'd changed your mind," he commented, without looking over.

"I almost did." Pocketing the flashlight, I tossed down the tripod. "Kyrano really needs to do something about the sorry state of that storeroom."

"Well, you haven't used your telescope in a very long time, sir."

It took every bit of my self-control to only mutter a very tight, "So I'm led to believe."

He'd written his thesis on the incompatibility of the Saturn Theory with conventional astrophysics. Published by Harvard at the end of his twenty-third year, it was an exceptional work of objection which directly challenged the link between ancient civilization and the orbits of four of the planets. The astronomy world had applauded it and he remained relentless in his pursuit of any new research. He was already saying that once we began operations, he wasn't leaving Thunderbird Five until he found the elusive quasar system he was convinced had to be in existence.

But now as I began the process of aligning my telescope, my thoughts began to drift back to our altercation in the hangar hours before. Somehow, I'd expected some of my initial decisions as commander to be questioned and that the hardest part would be making the boys understand it had nothing to do with me being their father and everything to do with me being in charge. The most experienced person trialing each craft was the first of those decisions and whether John agreed with me or not, I was still the most experienced astronaut. This was no time for ego; this was our last chance to make sure we had it right.

Mother had laughed when I'd predicted it wasn't going to be easy moulding the five of them into a rescue team. In John's case especially, it was hard to know where to even start.

"Father?" I glanced over.

"What?"

"I asked you if you needed any help."

"Help with what?"

It was then that I realised my concentration had run away with my thoughts and the only thing probably visible through the lens right now was the one of the tattered old sneakers I'd pulled on an hour ago in my rush to get out of the villa.

"Guess it has been a long time," he said when I over-compensated, feeling stupid. The way this was going, I was starting to wish I had changed my mind. Left Kyrano to think he'd fooled me in the roundhouse and given John more time to cool off watching Saturn on his own. He was making no secret of the fact that he was still unhappy about my decision and I'd long since accepted that once he retreated from a conversation there was nothing more anybody could do.

Time was the only thing that worked with John ... time, and maybe in my case, a clearer explanation. Whilst my resolve remained firm that he wouldn't be sitting in the pilot's seat for Thunderbird Three's blast-off, my conscience was telling me I'd bought this on myself by failing to explain the reason why.

He said nothing further for at least another hour other than to remark that Saturn's rings were brightening, and he anticipated full opposition wasn't far away. Fortunately for me, I'd made an effort to brush up on the subject.

"The Seeliger effect," I agreed with the confidence of an expert. At full opposition the sun shone directly on Saturn's rings and any shadows were then lost behind the tiny frozen particles that comprised them. It made the rings appear forty per cent brighter; or at least that was the statistic I chose to rattle off.

"Very good, sir..." For a minute, I thought he sounded impressed. Until he added, "I'm glad you took the time to read all about it."

Another hour passed, and I decided I'd had enough. Time would bring him around. Sure, I got that, if time was a luxury I knew I had. Scott was arriving the day after tomorrow and Brains had already agreed that the trials needed to be complete by the middle of next week. And for those trials to be successful I needed commitment…. _everyone's_ commitment

...and that included one hundred per cent from John.

"John..."

I saw his expression freeze the moment his name was mentioned and chose to ignore the impatient sigh when I sat down near the edge of the cliff, making it clear I was no longer interested in anything to do with the telescope.

"Son, I want you to know there's a very good reason why I've put myself in the hot seat for Thunderbird Three's trial."

"There always is, sir."

Laced with indifference almost conducive to sarcasm...he'd been like this ever since he'd been a child.

"Don't you want to hear what it is?"

This time the indifference came in the form of a disinterested shrug. "It's your organisation, Father. You can do whatever you want with it."

"Correction John … this is our organisation."

"If that's what you believe, then yes, sir."

"I thought it was something we all believed, John."

Jesus, I never thought something like this could be so difficult. Dad had warned me years ago that fatherhood would never stop presenting me with its challenges but at no time was I expecting the basic premise behind International Rescue to be put to the test. For months I'd been congratulating myself I'd made the deal crystal clear. We were all in this together ... a family partnership with me in command. How could I green-light the start of operations if any of them felt they'd signed up for some kind of dictatorship?

I stared up at Saturn and drew on the strength of my own convictions. Forced myself to ignore the lump in my throat and willed myself to continue on.

"Sit down, son."

He hesitated, but in the end did as I requested, settling a few feet away from where I sat dangling my legs over the edge, trying to figure out how to frame this so at least he'd understand.

"You realise it will be another three hundred and seventy-eight days before Saturn's at full opposition again," he pointed out flatly. "Saturn can wait," I said and every bit as flatly. "What happened in the hangar today, can't."

"John," I started again, not really knowing how this would pan out. "Why do you think I'm so determined to head this trial? Be honest with me, son."

He looked at me for a while and then turned his attention to the horizon. "It doesn't really matter what I think, Dad."

Yet his face told me otherwise; that it did really matter, and he was struggling to find the answer to the question. Or maybe, if I knew my son half as well as I thought I did, struggling with the realization that, whether he agreed with it or not, my decision might just be right.

"John, do you remember Deke Curtis?"

He frowned at the change of subject. "What about him?" he asked.

"Deke Curtis is the reason I'm heading Thunderbird Three's trial."

It took him a few minutes to digest the information before he looked back, brows knitted, mouth pursed. "I'm not sure I understand you, Dad. "

I told him it was a long story ... an important story ... one that had taught me a lot. And now with the role I wanted him to play in International Rescue it was high time he heard it. I didn't care if the truth had the potential to tarnish my reputation in his eyes.

Colonel David "Deke" Curtis had been Head of the World Space Agency when John was accepted into its accelerated astronaut training programme. Deke was a good man, thorough, a veteran when it came to outer space. He had six missions under his belt before I'd even made major and rumor had it that he'd lived through some close calls over time. One of those close calls ended up involving me during a routine agency mission to undertake a crew change at the International Space Station.

"If that day had played out the way the universe intended it John, neither of us would be having this conversation right now."

The fact that he remained silent was encouraging at least, so I pressed on hoping that he might hear me out.

Deke was thirty-two when I started my career at the agency. He was everything I aspired to be, maybe more, and I was awestruck during the initial astronaut meet and greet. One of the first things he said to me was that no matter what, the most important thing to learn was how to think like an astronaut.

"That took me by surprise because in my head, my career trajectory had been almost typical."

I was an engineer, a test pilot and above all, I was a good fighter pilot. I'd survived the mock press conference to make sure I was skilled enough to train in public relations. I'd passed all the medical exams despite some pretty invasive poking, grabbing and prodding. I'd even made it through the hour-long panel interview and the psychological tests where they'd asked me more than once if I'd ever wanted to kill my mother.

I thought I _was_ thinking like an astronaut.

"'Tracy,' he said to me, 'you have a lot to learn.'"

And for the next two years I made sure I damn well did.

"I upgraded my knowledge base. I re-assessed my physical capabilities. I took every opportunity there was to extend my skill-set. Before I knew it, I'd been selected for my first mission."

I looked deliberately at John.

"Curtis wasn't selected for that mission and believe me, I was stoked. I had no problems in the lead-up and only congratulations from the Agency after it. Then the news got even bigger."

That's when I was told I was to be one of the seven astronauts tasked to oversee the initial colonization of the moon.

"But it was Colonel David Curtis who they placed in command."

In the time between the announcement and the blast-off of Pioneer One, I decided to push things up another notch. Seeing the earth from a spaceship orbiting the earth at eighteen thousand miles an hour had inspired me like nothing else could. Plus, I was determined to prove to all of them I was every bit as good as Deke Curtis.

Six months out, we both received orders to undertake a routine crew change at the International Space Station. In those days, the Agency's computer programs handled the majority of the launch sequences. We had flight controllers on the ground to intervene if needed, but in general the ground launch sequencer controlled the whole thing from T minus forty-five to when the third stage separated from the main ship.

"I still remember that launch in so much detail. I was in the centre. Curtis was on my right. Fred Jamieson, the third flight engineer was on the left. Everything was going like clockwork. We hit six-point eight miles in forty-five seconds and the crew tower disconnected right on cue. We were subjected to the usual G-Forces and physically the three of us held up. Five minutes after launch the second stage separated, and the third stage took over to propel us towards the space station. Nine minutes later I reported to ground control that we'd begun our final approach."

"So, what went wrong?" John sounded puzzled.

"There's no official record of anything going _wrong_ , John...thanks to the experience of Colonel David Curtis."

The rendezvous and docking procedures were all fully automated. As the docking process began Curtis must have had a premonition or something because he decided something wasn't right with the main computer. He insisted I interrupt the automation rather than risk proceeding if there was any possibility of a malfunction. I assessed the screens myself and said the automation seemed fine and, as far as I was concerned, we didn't need to interrupt anything. Jamieson agreed with me...two versus three. But in the end, Curtis ordered me to take manual control of the docking.

"John, I obeyed the order even though I didn't agree with it; and as it turned out, we not only saved the Agency a few million bucks in inventory, we also circumvented a major operation to mend international relations after almost taking out the six Russian cosmonauts."

Much to my relief, the tension between us melted as John's frown disappeared and he began to laugh.

"Wow, Colonel Curtis must have been really pissed at you, Dad."

Pissed? I laughed with him. Pissed wasn't the word!

"You know what he said once we finally docked and shut her down?"

His eyes were round with anticipation. "No?"

"He said, Tracy after five fricking years you still can't think like an astronaut. And John, to a point I think he was absolutely right. We were both highly skilled. The difference was that Deke had the experience to sense trouble when it really counted. Something I want to be sure the training programme has given you when we trial Thunderbird Three together. For me, that's non-negotiable."

For a few minutes he shook his head and ran a hand through his cropped blond hair. Looked at the sky, back at the ocean, then at Saturn and finally at me.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he said. "I should have known better than to doubt your judgement."

I told him to forget it. As usual, there was no harm done.

"I'm sure you'll have your own stories to tell before long." I smiled at him. "Just make sure none of them involve taking out the International Space Station. Is that a deal?"

"It's a deal. Thanks, Dad."

And then he grinned again. "Do you think you'll ever get Alan to think like an astronaut?"

I was pretty sure he knew my answer to that.

"John, I think it might take me a little while."

**Twenty-One**

It was true what I'd read about the life cycle of the Heliconius Genus.

The next morning, all three boys commented separately on the large number of lifeless butterflies they'd seen as they traversed the island on an early morning walk. Then Brains wandered in to join us at the table marveling how many caterpillars he'd just seen crawling in amongst the passionflower vines.

"Such is the circle of life," Kyrano stated from behind me, before moving to set down one of his special breakfast casseroles followed by a tray of hot cinnamon and raisin scones.

"Those butterflies only live for a maximum of six months," I informed Brains, ignoring Kyrano. "It makes sense we'd be starting to see caterpillars again, especially if there's a few dead ones lying around."

Kyrano made no further comment other than to excuse himself saying he had things to deal with in the kitchen. It was probably just as well because I was still pretty sore about his sabotage tactics in the roundhouse the night before. He might have thought he was doing me a favor in providing me with the opportunity to sort things out with John, but he'd also left me tossing and turning half the night thanks to the itch of a thousand mosquito bites.

The breakfast casserole appeared to be some sort of peace offering, plus he knew from experience that I could never resist the scones.

The smell of cinnamon permeated the air as I flipped back the cloth and quickly snagged one.

It didn't take Brains and the boys too much longer to follow suit.

Maybe just this once, my appetite might allow me to forgive him.

It had been a long time since I'd felt this comfortable about the relationship I had with John.

**Twenty-Two**

He strode into the house, threw down his duffel bag and immediately launched himself in the direction of his three younger brothers.

It was then that I knew Kyrano was right. Nothing, not even the Air Force could change my eldest, the brother they had idolized so much growing up. The additional squeeze to Virgil's shoulder…the pat on the back during the hand shake with John… the affectionate ruffle of Gordon's unruly ginger mop and the chuckle when he was told in no uncertain terms to ‘knock it off.’

Finally, it was my turn and the arms that pulled me into the bear hug were every bit as intense as the ones I remember him wrapping around my waist when he was just a little kid.

"It's good to see you, Dad."

"It's good to see you too, son."

Then he turned around to acknowledge Brains before asking Kyrano how he was.

He'd been stationed in Nevada for the last three months. Not flying jets where he'd earned his reputation as a key combat strategist but working as an instructor so that his expertise wasn't lost. The Air Force had placed a tight caveat on the discharge of Captain Scott Tracy. If I wanted him to resign his commission and come and work for me in the 'family business,' he had to train one of his subordinates to step up and do the job.

"Now I know why you resigned from the Agency when they offered you the desk job," he said, as we lounged around the pool after a long and lazy lunch. "I swear being grounded has nearly killed me, Dad. It's been longest three months of my life."

As expected, his brothers all guffawed and gave him no sympathy, baiting him with the line that it wasn't going to be any different, living and working alongside 'the old man.' They knew how frustrated Scott could get when he felt he was being restricted. He was lateral thinker and a decision-maker, and he liked to do things his way when it came down to getting the job done.

"The first month I was assigned this big guy from Iowa. Nine years in the Air Force and he thought he knew everything. Everything except the basics of aerial combat strategy, that is, and the importance of securing the high ground as a priority. He had no time for anything but the complexities, and his attitude nearly drove me nuts. Then I get told he's being transferred out and I'm landed with another one just like him from Pennsylvania."

Despite the complaints he seemed relaxed and happy, which was a relief, given the intensity of my conversation with Kyrano on the beach a month before. Asked if he was intending to lose the buzz cut, he laughed, ran his hand over it and said of course he was. Teased by his brothers that they had no intention of following his orders, he simply leaned back in the sun lounger, sipped his drink and laughed.

"Now, when do I get the guided tour of what you guys have been working on for the last six months?" he asked.

"All in good time," I said absently.

A splash of colour had just fluttered past.

She hovered for a while in the branches of the hibiscus, before landing on a flower swaying in the breeze diagonally to the right of Scott's head. "Well, I'll be!" He was as mesmerized as the rest of us as we all sat there and watched her. I allowed myself the luxury of the mental snapshot.

She must have waited for him and here he was.

**Twenty-Three**

The conversation continued in private that night over a bottle of one of my best single malts. Not as father and son trying to catch up on the last six months but as a commander and his field commander.

I have to say it felt pretty good.

The sweat glistened on his forehead as he listened to how I wanted to approach the final trial of each Thunderbird craft. It was humid out here on the balcony tonight and coming straight from Nevada I could see that he was feeling it.

"Maybe we should continue this inside in the air-conditioning?" I suggested.

"No, I'm good." He put down the whiskey glass and reached over to grab one of the bottles of water Kyrano had left on the table as an alternative. "Although I think I'll need to grab a little shuteye once I understand why you think that particular sequence works."

The sequence he was referring to, was the emergency launch procedure we'd adopted for Thunderbird Four. He'd been asking me questions about everything for the past two hours, questions I hadn't anticipated, of course. He wanted to know why the minimum crew for Thunderbird Two was two when there was always the potential for her to be involved in multiple rescues. He asked why I thought the monthly rotations in Thunderbird Five wouldn't be too taxing; about the back-up for Thunderbird One and who would make the final selection when it came to what was loaded in the pods.

"I see myself as first response," he explained when I asked for his take on what should happen in an emergency situation. "You'd select the crew and whatever rescue equipment was needed. I'd be responsible for setting up a mobile control unit at the danger zone and keeping you informed."

"What about the decision-making during the rescue operation?" I challenged him.

He leaned forward, looked and me and then picked up the whiskey bottle. “I guess you're going to have to be comfortable with me acting on a hunch."

With that, I sat back in silence and allowed him to do the honors. His hand was steady, almost expert as he poured the amber liquor into my glass. It went without saying that I had no problem relying on his judgement when things in the field got rough. Assessing the risks and weighing them up against the potential consequences. His natural talent for innovation was always going to over-ride any risks associated with him acting on a hunch.

"It sounds like you've got it all figured out, then." I lifted my glass and tilted it towards his during my response. He looked pleased, yet something told me he wasn't finished testing where the boundaries were yet.

"Explain to me again about the crewing of Thunderbird Two."

It would be one, at most two, I found myself repeating. Only when absolutely necessary would I consider dispatching three. It would all depend on the situation we were facing and crew availability.

"That’s that worries me, Dad."

I frowned at him. "Why?"

The question then became the catalyst for him to air his views on the monthly rotations planned for Thunderbird Five.

"I don't profess to know much about how space affects an astronaut, but I can still remember how wiped you always used to be, Dad."

He would have been around six at the time, maybe seven, seven and a half at most. Scrunching up his face as he struggled to understand my rudimentary explanation of the impact of G-forces and why I couldn't function properly until I'd been to bed. In the end, I think his mother must have explained it to him because he always made sure his brothers were nowhere near me until he was confident, I'd had sufficient rest.

It was starting to become all too easy to be influenced by memories, so I decided it was time to forget what had happened in the past. I asked Scott to trust me. I'd been weighing up the pros and cons of monthly rotations for months. Besides, my agency missions had involved a heck of a lot more than what I was expecting Alan and John to do as space monitors for International Rescue.

"Oh, by the way …speaking of Alan…"

I knew he wasn't going to like this.

My intention to use his youngest brother as a backup for Thunderbird One.

He remained silent at first, as he always did whenever it had anything to do with Alan. The two of them were close and I was all too aware that there had been times when Scott was the nearest thing Alan had when it came to a father. He stared into his glass for ages before he cleared his throat, the usual indication that he was finally prepared to speak up. But by the time he did, his whole forehead was creased with worry, as it always was whenever he was about to disagree.

"Dad, I haven't tested her myself yet."

"I realise that, son."

I added that the lack of testing at this stage didn't faze me. He'd be testing her soon and if luck was on our side, she'd do what she was designed to do, and we wouldn't have to waste time sorting out any glitches.

"I also think Alan's too young to be expected to shoulder that kind of responsibility."

Yes, I agreed that it was certainly the case right now, but Alan did have the ability and when the time was right I wanted Scott to be the one to teach him.

"The Space Agency tells me that the boy is pretty good, and you know yourself we'll more than likely need the back-up. Look on the bright side …" I paused long enough to shoot him a conciliatory grin. "… I think your brother might be a whole lot easier for you to mould than those two big guys from Iowa and Pennsylvania."

"I don't know, Dad ..."

"He won't let you down," I interrupted, which then somehow bought us back full circle to his concerns about how Gordon would handle the emergency launch procedure in Thunderbird Four.

When Scott left Kansas for Yale, Alan and Gordon were both still kids. Nine and ten; certainly, a handful; but as his grandmother had pointed out, no reason to deny himself a higher education, especially when she knew what he wanted in the world. At the start, the two boys had really missed him, but they soon figured out there was no option other than to cope. Scott, on the other hand, never wavered in his devotion to them, even overseas in the UK during his time at Oxford and his first few years in the Air Force.

"What convinced you that this sequence is safer?" There was tension in his tightly clipped words. "What happens if we need to use it in the middle of a rescue operation? Dad …" He hesitated almost as if he was too afraid to say it. "Dad, how can I be sure he isn't going to injure himself again?"

How could he be sure? I wanted to ask him whether it was possible for either of us to be sure. For five grueling days, we'd sat side by side in a military hospital not knowing whether Gordon was going to make it or, like everyone else on board that hydrofoil, lose the fight and be gone.

"Brains assured me it's safer," was my initial reaction.

"Plus, when Gordon trialled it, I was sitting next to him myself," I added, when I calmed down.

And if the procedure needed to be used during a rescue operation, I knew I could trust his field commander to remind him that the rule was to be easy does it.

"Most importantly, Scott…"

It was normal to worry that Gordon might injure himself again. Fact was, it could happen using normal procedure or at any other time during a rescue operation, too.

"It's going to take this family a long time to forget what happened to your brother. It was hard on all of us, but we had it easy compared to him. Now what he needs is for us both to believe in him. He's part of the team, son."

He eyed me in silence before he drained what was left in his glass. "He's my brother first, sir."

"Exactly why I'm comfortable I can rely on you to watch out for him."

Scott's expression made it clear that he wasn't convinced that simply watching out for Gordon was going to be enough. 

**Twenty-Four**

It might have been his honesty or just a dose of plain over-exhaustion, but it was now almost three hours since he'd left my suite and I was still pacing the floor unable to settle down. Once again, I was questioning and starting to second-guess myself. Was this all just some kind of crazy gamble or a genuine attempt on my part to help people in the world?

I had to have another pilot to fly Thunderbird One. Alan and John would be rotating. But then I took Scott's point. Was Alan as capable as I thought he was? And if we needed to use Four's emergency launch procedure, was I kidding myself that 'easy does it' was enough to make sure Gordon didn't get hurt?

I stared at the mess of crumpled sheets and then continued pacing. So many risks … too many hard decisions... my life seemed to have been on this roller-coaster ride for as long as I could remember.

_"You worry too much, Jeff."_

The night before she died…

I was pacing the floor then, too. Not worrying about her or the fact that our fifth was due to make his appearance any minute but the fact that the Space Agency was expecting my only focus to be the new mission due to launch in six weeks from Cape Canaveral.

I'll always have regrets about the way I'd handled myself that night. Doing a right turn, demanding to know why in the hell she thought a man in my position shouldn't be worried? Ten years as an astronaut and why was it only now that I was finally starting to realise I had responsibilities and I could get myself killed?

"I'm sorry." Her silence always had the power to pull me out of a funk. "I don't know why I've got such a bad feeling about this, Lucy. On paper, it's no different to any other mission. "

"That's because it isn't." 

"Then why don't _you_ tell me why I'm suddenly so damned scared that something is about to go wrong?" 

Intuition turned out to be a real bitch and I was right in my prediction that something was about to go wrong.

Six weeks later the rocket-ship blasted off from Cape Canaveral.

I wasn't on it.

I was staring at my reflection in the bathroom of the Kansas farm house trying to convince myself that I could do this … and replaying my final promise to her …

To never give up at any cost.

**Twenty-Five**

He arrived on the island the same way he entered the world; with difficulty. He'd already been delayed in New York due to the unseasonal weather and now I was standing on my balcony, not believing what I was seeing, as he brought in the second of the Tracy Corporation jets, almost misjudging the runway then finally skidding to less than two feet from the cliff.

I could only shake my head and wait for the explosion from Scott, who had offered to monitor the landing from behind my desk in the corner of the lounge. Half-way through the dressing down I decided to turn off my wrist communicator.

"If you're not sure about a _****ing_ runway, Alan, you use your head and then the ****ing _VTOL_! This isn't a flying exhibition for Christ's _****ing_ sake!" 

The language didn't let me down, of course. I swear the Air Force must have taught him most of it.

It had been a difficult morning and trying to deal with company business wasn't helping. No matter how much I'd tried to focus on the logistics of delivering on five new aerospace contracts, I couldn't get her condition out of my mind.

The sun had only just risen when I'd stepped out onto the balcony to find her struggling. She was so fragile and weak; and in my usual preoccupation, I almost didn't see her lying underneath the passionflower vines. A first inspection indicated she'd injured a wing or maybe one of her legs. The second left me too afraid to touch her, fearing it would be the catalyst for the end.

The smell of the passionflowers had never been so sweet as I'd crouched there useless, debating with myself whether I should scoop her up. She didn't deserve to die here, insignificant against a bed of concrete. She deserved to be in a place where I could tell myself she was happy. Somewhere where I thought she might be comfortable and where her life would be able to end in peace.

As the sun rose higher, so did the memories, threatening to engulf me inside their painful time warp. Reminding me that the outcome for her was inevitable no matter what I did. Dragging me back to the night when hell came in the form of a hospital. Forcing me to question myself again whether International Rescue was nothing more than just some sort of guilty compensation for what had happened to Lucy almost twenty-one years before.

In the end, I had to satisfy myself with resting her on a leaf deep inside the passionflower vines. If International Rescue was going to operate I didn't have time to dwell on any of it. I needed to concentrate on what would keep the outfit functional. The business…

No voyage of self-discovery was going to change that.

Yet, now that Alan had arrived I found myself looking for her, even if it was only just one more glimpse through the triple glass doors. Deep down I knew I was being ridiculous. "She" was only a simple butterfly and those doors weren't about to open for some grim-faced doctor to escort me into an intensive care ward.

Not that it mattered I supposed.

It had been seven hours.

Even with the surgery, she had only lived for six.

Only long enough for her to see our son and for me to say a final goodbye.

**Twenty-Six**

"Excuse me," he said. "I knocked several times, but you failed to respond."

I turned around from where I stood at the railing. "I'm sorry, Kyrano."

"You appear to be deep in thought."

He wore a grey sleeveless robe; unusual for him. Its long flowing lines accentuated his colouring. Salt and pepper, a mixture of white and grey. No greater reminder to either of us that we were both starting to grow older.

His eyes flickered briefly to the butterfly lying so still in the palm of my right hand. Despite how I'd felt, I'd made the decision to hold her. She'd died within minutes.

My beautiful girl was gone.

"Mr. Scott has suggested that with the weather so warm, we might like to take lunch by the pool today," he said, without commenting.

I glanced up at the sky. The weather couldn't be more perfect for it. There wasn't a cloud in sight for miles.

I nodded my agreement before turning back to the railing. "Sounds like a good idea."

If nothing else, it would take my mind off _her_.

It never ceased to amaze me how easy it was for the world to move on. Here today, gone tomorrow. Mother had always been philosophical about it, but I was yet to convince myself I was. I couldn't argue with her reasoning; that the sun continues to rise no matter what... or her usual recitation, "Honey, when your number's up, your number's up." For me the burning question had always been why something couldn't be done to stop the blasted ballot process in the first place. No-one should lose their life because humans could be ignorant, made poor decisions, were greedy or told lies.

"Mr. Alan has arrived."

He was still there; standing right behind me.

"I know. I saw the landing." 

"I have informed him that you will be down to greet him as soon as you are able," he continued. "He and Mr. Gordon are already deep in discussion on the pros and cons of exchanging private suites."

Swapping rooms … of course they were. Nothing those two did ever came as any big surprise.

"Tell them whatever they want is fine with me, Kyrano."

I was more than happy for any of them to have whatever made their lives here more comfortable. Yesterday, Alan had announced his retirement from the racing circuit and had struggled to maintain his composure during the press conference. "A champion for five weeks, two days and fourteen and a half hours," he'd swallowed as he'd faced the cameras. It was obvious the realisation of what he was giving up had really hit him hard.

"Is there anything more I can do for you?" I'd made no attempt to move and Kyrano sounded like he was being careful in how he framed the question.

I went to shake my head; to shrug him off and say no. Tell him that there was nothing anyone could do for Jeff Tracy. Not when he was such a successful businessman and was on the cusp of launching a rescue organisation that would make a real difference in the world. But I didn't. I didn't say any of it. Instead, I steeled myself and simply told him that I was fine.

"Then may I ask that you at least allow me to express myself freely, as a friend."

My fingers closed over the butterfly, knuckles whitening as she disappeared into my fist. I knew damn well where he intended to go with this, and by the way my chest was constricting, he was going to be very, very sorry if he did. I needed to be left alone to make sense out of my thoughts, not listen to him. But, as always when I turned around to say it to him, he was one step ahead of me and I doubted there was going to be a choice. "There was nothing you could have done.

It was her time," he said quietly.

He knew I didn't believe that. That nothing he could say would ever make me believe that.

"All things that are intended to be, will be," he insisted when I didn't answer. I frowned at him. Familiarity resonated.

That night when I was so uneasy, worried sick about the capability of my own son.

"The butterfly is one with nature and Nature is capable of finding its own way without the need for any words. It carries pollen to help our passionflowers blossom and produce new seeds…."

I was no longer listening. 'Nature is capable of finding its own way without the need for any words'. He'd said that six months ago and, in my impatience, I'd ignored him. Too busy finding a solution to Thunderbird Two's 'problem' … determined nothing was going to stop International Rescue now.

He'd said a lot of other things, too, things I now realised had been masked by the chaos he'd caused called the 'the botany project.' Dredging up my regrets, digging trying to find an entrance to that memory. I'd bought the man here to manage my household, damn him! How many times did he need to be told? It must have shown on my face because he said,

"You are angry."

I glared, wanting to ask why in the hell he thought I shouldn't be angry. He'd lost his own wife. The result of what he'd called 'a misguided and free-spirited intelligence.' I hadn't pushed for more. She'd taken their daughter and left Malaysia without saying a word. By the time he found them, the child was almost twelve, and he was told that her mother had only a few weeks left to live. He'd professed to be at peace with it, that lifestyle was a factor which influenced every human condition. Always so calm and practical... … so, philosophical and so blasted rational. Any other day I'd have admired him. Today, he had me smouldering inside.

"Kyrano..." I growled in warning, "...you said to me once that sometimes you thought that you knew me better than I knew myself. But, if you did know me, you would have already realised that there is nothing to be gained by continuing this conversation."

That didn't deter him. "On the contrary, I believe we have always gained much from our conversations."

"Well, we're not going to gain anything from this one!" Nothing irritated me more than when he twisted my words. "If I want to be angry, I'm going to be angry, and I'll be the one to decide if there is any need for me to analyse it!

"NOW…" I took a breath, holding it to steady myself, to regain my composure before I said anything else. "…I think it would be better if dropped the subject and got back to what we're supposed to be doing." Then I lowered my voice and uttered the dismissal. "And for me that means getting back to work."

"Lord, you're stubborn." 

Mother's frustration echoed through my head as Kyrano continued to stand there, clearly with no intention of heeding my words. "There are people out there who can help you, honey. Surely you can see the answer to this isn't to bury yourself in more work?" Grief was a difficult process, she kept on insisting, and more than anyone, she understood that one size didn't fit all. When my father died I was training in Florida, my focus on the impending moon colonisation. She was the one in Kansas who had to wade her way through the emotional storm alone. How much we missed Dad was our common denominator, but the rest of the journey had been completely different for us both. My acceptance collided with her denial. Her anger at his mortality melded into my long string of regrets and what if's. And I couldn't expect it to be any different now that my own world had crashed around me, she’d told me.

"Jeff, you have to accept that there is nothing you can do to change this. I know it's hard, but you have to let her go."

"You underestimate yourself," Kyrano finally said.

"I thought I told you to leave." I was so angry at him right now, all I wanted to do was to ram my fist through the nearest wall.

"You have so much vision, Jeff Tracy. You see what needs to be. You have built great machines and raised fine young men. So, why is it that you still refuse to see that in order to save anyone else, you must first save yourself?"

He was a little bruised, they told me, and would probably have two black eyes in the morning but other than that he was doing just fine. The oxygen was precautionary and would help with stabilising his breathing. They’d said they were keeping an eye on him and if his condition changed I'd be the first one to know. Unfortunately, Lucy still wasn't responding as well as the surgeon had first hoped. They'd said they were prepping her to undergo more surgery. 

"She won't die, will she?" I'd asked. 

For the next four and a half hours I'd sat there, no different from any other man, negotiating a silent pact with someone who until now hadn't really counted, had never been my priority, had only ever existed when I sat in a church pew on Sundays. I'd make sure I was home more often. I'd be more patient. Less self-absorbed with my career from now on. Surely, He could see that I couldn't do this without her? That she was everything to me? That, if He listened, I would prove to Him that I could keep all my promises? For twenty years, I'd tried to erase those hours from my memory, or at least stop myself from thinking about what my life might have been if He'd listened and she hadn't died. It changed me irrevocably, making me the man I was today. How could Kyrano or anyone else expect me to 'save myself', when I still hadn't forgiven myself for being unable to save her?

The wave crashed down hard when it hit and so did the butterfly, crushed as I slammed her as hard as I could and pummelled her into the wall.

"I hate this! I hate it that after all these years just thinking about her still has the power to grind me to a halt. You think the past is dead and buried, Kyrano. You tell yourself it has to be because you want it to be and you convince yourself you've moved on… But then something as simple as a butterfly triggers the memory..." I swallowed the lump, no longer angry with anyone but myself. "… and before you know it, you're right where you started … in hell. “

"Jeff Tracy …"

"No," I interrupted, weakly. "You've made your point. Go."

She had been so beautiful, and she had made me so happy. She never became agitated, frustrated or angry. She was just perfect. And now all I could do was watch as the afternoon breeze carried what was left of her away from me, too.

"Lunch will be ready shortly," Kyrano said, turning towards the door.

But he hesitated just before he opened it. "There is much courage to be had in practicing the art for forgiveness. Jeff Tracy."

When I couldn't bring myself to agree with him, he added, "Maybe for you it is the time."

**Twenty-Seven**

As things turned out, one of the first lives we saved was the child who was so very precious to him. Trapped in the sky on board the new atomic passenger jet Fireflash, the fate of his only daughter and more than six hundred others was the trigger for me to launch International Rescue. It had only been three days since we'd first manned the satellite when John contacted the island after picking up the distress call. Fireflash had a bomb on board. Trying to land her would more than likely detonate it. Not landing at all would result in fatal radiation exposure.

My voice remained steady as I gave the order to my Field Commander. Tin-Tin Kyrano was almost a daughter to me, like a sister to him and all London Airport could say was that they'd already tried everything and the Fireflash didn't stand a chance. It was time to step up and prove to the world that there was an alternative.

This was it.

THIS was my final rite of passage.

No more what ifs, trying to figure out how I might have changed a certain outcome.

No more sleepless nights asking myself why it had to be my family and my career.

If this was the only way, then this time it was going to be my way. We had to save that aircraft.

And for Kyrano's sake, I had to save her.

He hadn't been himself for the past few days; some sort of seizure I suspected, although I wasn't comfortable enough to be sure. When Scott and Virgil returned from London it was my intention to fly in a doctor. Kyrano said he couldn't remember anything. All I knew was that it had been one hell of a frightening thing to watch.

But for now, he stood beside me in a distraught silence, listening to the various exchanges between Scott, London Tower, Virgil and the pilot of Fireflash. Gripping the padded leather behind me when Virgil aborted the first rescue attempt... Lowering his head to pray when Scott gave the final order to bring her down... In the end, the cost to save six hundred and seven human lives amounted to the loss of two of our elevator cars, some minor injury to Virgil and a security issue, which thanks to our London Agent was quickly resolved. A small price to pay to witness Kyrano's reunion with his daughter, plus Brains was already saying it was easy enough to make changes to the design of the cars.

"Thank you, Mr. Tracy."

She smiled as she left her father's arms and allowed herself to be engulfed by mine; the beautiful young woman who had accepted my invitation to work alongside Brains as the Assistant Engineer of International Rescue. I couldn't believe how close we'd come to losing her.

"You gave us quite a scare up there, young lady," I said when I finally released her. "We weren't supposed to commence our operations until after you'd arrived."

We celebrated after that but as the night wore on, I once again found myself standing alone on the balcony. Not my own balcony this time with its bittersweet memories of caterpillars and a butterfly, but the main one off the lounge, where I listened to my boys laugh and reflected on our achievement; happy to immerse myself in how good it really felt. According to the newscast, saving the Fireflash had made us quite the secret celebrities. People were already asking questions and so far, no-one could provide them with any answers. All I hoped was I could manage to keep it that way. Time would tell with that, I guessed.

"Jeff Tracy," he murmured, and he startled me when he stepped out of the shadows. He was the last person I'd expected to see. He'd told me he was retiring for the night over two hours ago.

"I didn't realise you were standing there, Kyrano. What's wrong? Still can’t sleep?"

He lifted his chin and closed his eyes; features tentative as he took his time to breathe in the wonderful warm sea air.

"Imaginary evils become all too real when one has too much time to think about them," he eventually admitted.

No doubt he was referring to whatever had haunted him throughout the seizure. He sounded troubled, tired. Everything inside me wanted to help. "Whatever happened to you three days ago, the doctor will get to the bottom of it," I found myself reassuring him. "You and Tin-Tin are perfectly safe here. The past is in the past."

The laughter in the lounge died not long after that, thanks to an announcement from Scott that tomorrow morning's training schedule would begin at 0800 hours with a five-mile run followed by two hours of mandatory weights and calisthenics.

"Two hours?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Yeah, Scott. How 'bout you give us kids a break?"

"Give YOU two a break? You weren't the ones hanging upside down for half an hour waiting for Scott to come and get me from inside that elevator car!"

"That's what happens to a guy when he runs out of runway, Virg ..."

"For the last time, Alan, I did NOT run out of runway." 

"Fellas, I said the party's over. Do me a favour and get your asses into bed."

I smiled during their exchange and then at the mumbled mutiny when Scott hit the lights, saying he wasn't going to repeat himself again. Maybe it wasn't going to be so hard moulding them into a rescue team after all. I think I was going to like what he had in store for them over the next few months.

"You chose very well," Kyrano acknowledged. "Yeah, I think so too," I said, glad I hadn't waivered, but only thanks to him.

"I have always been of the belief that there are men who are destined to achieve great things." He paused, and I followed his eyes as he took in the stars, the huge expanse of silver blackness and the wisps of cloud that drifted above. "But then I remind myself that there are also those who are destined to become great men."

"Do you think it's possible for a man to be both?" I asked him.

"Yes, I do Jeff Tracy." Then we leaned on the railing in silence for a long time, gazing out into the dark.

I guess it could be said I'd achieved great things during my career in the Space Agency. Explored the universe, expanded the space programme … felt the rush … married my girl. But that career had been cut short through tragedy and necessity and my wealth only acquired because I made the decision to do the right thing by my sons. Besides, who was anyone to say what made a man great, anyway? My father was only a simple wheat farmer, and in my opinion, no greater man ever walked the face of this earth. He acknowledged the challenge and despite the fact it was well after midnight we soon found ourselves immersed in yet another of our deep and confusing conversations. He said one's perception of greatness was the result of a former state of the active consciousness.

"And as usual, that statement has nothing whatsoever to do with the point I'm trying to make about my father," I grumbled back.

Of course, he didn't agree with me, and so the discussion went on, a mix of eastern wisdom and the Tracy view of what made perfect sense. We were so engrossed, we almost didn't see them at first. My youngest with Kyrano's daughter, hand in hand, disappearing into the night.

"It would seem that the time is right to embark on a new 'much-needed' botany project," he quietly commented.

"Another botany project?" I rolled my eyes at the thought. Only Kyrano could find some sort of cryptic phrase to compare Alan ignoring his brother's curfew with my least favourite branch of biology!

"It is simple," he explained, when I pointed out I'd suffered enough the last time and didn't want anything to do with it. "If one likes a flower, one makes the decision to pluck it. If one loves a flower, one chooses to water it every day."

I told him didn't care who plucked or watered anything, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't about to bring home any more of those blasted passionflower vines.

"But all flowers are souls blossoming in nature," he protested.

"And nature is capable of finding its own way, without the need for any words. Am I right?"

A slight inclination of his head and a blank expression told me everything.

"I think you are learning, Jeff Tracy. I think you are learning." 

**FIN**


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